poor atlas

i'm building a body, from balsam and ash, i'm building a body with, no god attached, i'm building a body, from blueprints in braille, i'm building a body, where our design has failed, there's a book full of plans, at the feet of poor atlas, titled 'for man', but the architects only drew blanks, now there's nowhere to go, but go back, go back, go back, go back